


better as you go

by youcouldmakealife



Series: between the teeth [35]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He calls Kiro.</p>
<p>“Davidson!” Kiro answers. “I not forget training, you forget it not happening today.”</p>
<p>“Can you get me drunk tonight?” David asks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	better as you go

It takes half of July for David to get body used to Vladislav’s schedule again, the rest of the month to make most of it feel easy, natural. So of course, the first week of August, Vladislav ups the ante again.

“I like you less than the _Flyers_ ,” Kiro tells Vladislav at the end of a particularly brutal session.

Vladislav says something back in rapid Russian, and Kiro laughs, breathless, turns to David before David can nudge him for the translation. “I hurt all one of his feeling,” Kiro says. “Right, Slava?”

“Wrong,” Vladislav says. “I have no feelings. What is it, no shits?”

“You give no shits,” David says. “Yeah.”

“Exactly,” Vladislav says. “You keep it up, the Flyers will hate you as much as you hate me, and I will have done my job.”

“Not sure possible,” Kiro mutters, and then holds his fist out until David bumps it with his own.

“Get the fuck out, I don’t want to see either of you until Sunday,” Vladislav says.

*

Jake’s texting is such a present part of David’s life that it’s confusing when it stops. It’s happened before, when Jake was mad at him, but this isn’t in response to anything that David knows of. Jake texted him a lot in April, May, less in June, minus the Awards, even less in July, and then August is — David doesn’t get a text from Jake for three days, which might be a message, because Jake texts constantly.

David thinks of a few things to text him in the interim — the typical baseball chirping when the Jays have a really good game, a restaurant recommendation after a very good meal with Vladislav and Kiro, but the last text in the conversation is from David, and he doesn’t feel comfortable sending another if Jake hasn’t replied to the last. Jake’s never had compunctions with sending him several texts in a row, especially because David frequently doesn’t respond in what he’s sure is the appropriate amount of time — Jake treats his phone like an extra limb sometimes, and David often forgets his at home, because it hardly has the importance of his keys or his wallet. Maybe he wouldn’t mind David texting him again, but David doesn’t want to. He can wait for Jake to respond.

His last text to Jake was about an impressive pick up by the Panthers from the KHL, so it isn’t like it was urgent, but often Jake will text him back before his phone goes dark. His phone is dark for three days before David has a day off, gets — bored, he supposes, maybe antsy, because he’s never liked days off, and Kiro’s girlfriend is in town so David doesn’t feel comfortable imposing on them just because he’s at a loss on what to do.

He shouldn’t be looking Jake up. He’s well aware that elite hockey players aren’t afforded the same measures of privacy in their personal lives as the average person, and it bothers him. David has been asked by more strangers than he can count — reporters and not — questions that are invasive, questions that you would never ask some stranger on the street, and he can’t even answer ‘that’s none of your business’, even though it isn’t, because it’s considered to be rude. How it’s more rude than the questions he’s asked, he doesn’t know, but he does know that cultivating a relationship with the media, the fans, is unfortunately almost as much of a requirement for his career as playing good hockey, so he’s always very polite when he tries to avoid answering the questions that make him uncomfortable.

He is very aware of how awkward — how _creepy_ , sometimes — the interest in his life outside of hockey can be, so he has no excuse for typing ‘jake lourdes girlfriend’ into google, the combination of Gallagher’s comment, months ago, and the uncharacteristic silence from Jake adding up to an unpleasant conclusion.

Not that it should be unpleasant. Not that it should be anything but _expected_ , and David knows how pathetic doing this is, he isn’t stupid. He knows this is the sort of thing that would have Kiro shaking his head and telling him he needs to get out, find someone, get over this, and Kiro wouldn’t be wrong.

The fact that there is an entire site specifically following who hockey players are dating makes him — there must be a stronger word than uncomfortable — and the idea of his own name being on the site makes him feel vaguely nauseated. But it’s the first link, updated recently, and David clicks it mechanically.

She’s pretty. All of Jake’s girlfriends have been pretty, and every time David sees one he’s reminded of his nickname on Team USA. Wonders if he’d fit into that category, the pretty boy, the stuck up blond bitch Benson had implicitly called him. She’s not blonde, but she looks a lot like the other girls, and she is undoubtedly Jake’s girlfriend. It’s not club photos, or candids — well, one of them is, holding hands downtown some busy street David assumes is in Detroit, but could be in Miami, for all he knows — but there’s one it looks like she took, tight angled, that exhibitionistic selfie kiss that was one of the reasons David stayed on Facebook for less than a year in high school before quitting. Those pictures feel too personal even if you don’t know either participant, and the way David knows Jake —

So Jake has a girlfriend. The closest thing David has to that was Kiro saying ‘Emily not mind if we make out’ three days ago, waggling his eyebrows, and then cracking up when David shoved him. Not that David’s complaining about Kiro. David is thankful for Kiro.

Obviously that’s what is involved in moving on, he _knows_ it is, knows that this is exactly what Jake was referring to. He knows what moving on means, he isn’t that — he knew.

He calls Kiro.

“Davidson!” Kiro answers. “I not forget training, you forget it not happening today.”

“Can you get me drunk tonight?” David asks.

Kiro’s quiet for a moment. “ _Really?_ ” he asks.

His girlfriend’s there. Of course. “Sorry,” David says. “I forgot your girlfriend—”

“We can _both_ get you drunk,” Kiro says. “If that is okay.”

“Um, I kind of—” David starts.

“She is wise woman, she will leave if you need manly cry,” Kiro says, then, tone changing. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” David says, before he can stop himself, then, “I’m fine.”

“Okay, Emily will stay at my place,” Kiro says, so David guesses Kiro doesn’t believe him.

“No, that’s fine,” David says. “Bring her. It’s fine.”

Kiro doesn’t bring her, arrives alone ten minutes after their appointed meeting time. David didn’t know what she’d want to drink, so at least he hasn’t ordered for anyone but himself, figuring it would be rude to order for Kiro but not her. “She is going to Boston to see family tomorrow,” Kiro says, “wants early night.” David’s not sure whether that’s the truth or not, he can’t read Kiro, and he doesn’t know her, but he can’t deny that he feels relieved. He didn’t particularly want to meet someone new tonight, and he’d been planning on leaving after a few drinks, uncomfortable with the idea of getting drunk around a stranger, even if she is Kiro’s girlfriend, and therefore presumably a good person to know. He can’t see Kiro with someone guys call a ‘stuck up blonde bitch’ behind his back. Though he guesses Kiro can be friends with them.

“Whoa,” Kiro says. “What did your face just do?”

David shrugs.

“We are not drinking beer,” Kiro says, gesturing at David’s. “You can have that one, but if you want to be drunk, we drink shots.”

“I don’t like shots,” David says.

“You manage okay when they were in tiny bottles,” Kiro says. 

“I could sip those,” David says. “I feel sick when I do shots.”

“So we have shots in bigger glass, sip,” Kiro says. “Scotch! Just expensive shot of whisky in a big glass.” 

“Okay,” David says. “You’d know better than me.”

“Very true,” Kiro says, and orders them both scotches, neat, which, in the end, basically are shots in a bigger glass, so David can sip without looking stupid. 

“What did American do?” Kiro asks, once David’s beer is finished, half his scotch. Kiro had been telling a story about his time in NCAA hockey, so David wasn’t expecting the question.

“Who said they did anything?” David asks.

“Your face,” Kiro says. “Your face said. When I came. Also right now.”

David ducks his head. “Whatever,” he mumbles.

Kiro shoulder checks him lightly. 

“He moved on,” David mumbles. “So. And I can’t and I _know_ that isn’t healthy, Kiro, you don’t have to tell me again.”

Kiro laughs, and David looks up, frowning.

“I have never met more jealous person than American was,” Kiro says. “No way, moved on. Texted you right after speech. Come on, David.”

“He has a girlfriend now, so,” David mumbles. May have had one then, which David doesn’t like thinking about, because it makes him feel guilty, even though he doesn’t think he did anything to feel guilty about.

“He tell you that?” Kiro says.

“No,” David says. “I. He does, though. He stopped texting me, so I—”

He stops.

“You went on internet,” Kiro says. “Stupid.”

“I know,” David says. 

Kiro blows out a breath. “No chance in you finding someone tonight—”

“No,” David says flatly.

“Okay,” Kiro says. “I order us doubles, next round.”

Even sipping, scotch disappears much more quickly than beer does. “You are supposed to enjoy it,” Kiro says, when the double goes down as fast as the single did, but he just orders them another round when prompted. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks. “Nobody will hear.” 

They’re in a plush booth away from the bar, and it’s quiet regardless. It’s a Tuesday. Most people aren’t out drinking on Tuesdays.

“Not really,” David says. Anything he says will sound stupid, he’s sure.

“It helps,” Kiro says.

“I don’t think it will,” David says, and Kiro frowns but doesn’t push, ends up telling David stories about Emily. David doesn’t know if she’s blonde, but she doesn’t sound stuck up at all. Of course, David hadn’t expected her to.

“Sorry,” Kiro says, after the first one, “should I not — you like funny stories, I was running out of hockey —”

“No,” David says. “It’s fine, I don’t mind. Your American, huh?”

“I think I am her Russian,” Kiro says. “But it is probably the same.”

He has an extensive amount of stories about her, which David supposes isn’t surprising, since they’ve been together for years. They’re funny — all of Kiro’s stories are funny, and David isn’t sure if Kiro makes things funny or just has a funnier life than most people. University, in particular, seems to prompt the absurd, and David laughs, he thinks, where he’s supposed to, but at some point Kiro stops talking, just frowns at him until David, self-conscious, says “What?”

“Talk,” Kiro says.

“I don’t want to,” David says. 

“Do it anyway,” Kiro says. “Does not have to be about American. Just. How do you feel right now?”

“Fine,” David says.

Kiro kicks him under the table.

“Ow,” David says.

“Talk truth,” Kiro says.

“I don’t feel better,” David admits. “You’re supposed to feel better as you go, right?” 

“What do you mean?” Kiro asks.

“Drinking,” David says. “You drink, you feel better.”

“David,” Kiro says, and David knows pity when he hears it.

“Don’t,” David says, then, “I’ll get us another round.”

“No,” Kiro says. “I think you are done.”

“But I don’t feel better,” David says, and doesn’t resist when Kiro gets out of his seat to slide in beside David, throws an arm around his shoulder in a one-armed hug. Kiro doesn’t pull back right away, after the time most guys would consider acceptable, just stays there, fingers digging into David’s shoulder.

“Alcohol is not magic,” Kiro says. “And you are allowed to feel like shit.”

“But I don’t want to,” David mumbles.

“No one does,” Kiro says, then, presumably to the server, “two waters and the bill?”

“I don’t want to go home,” David says.

“Come home with me,” Kiro says.

“Your girlfriend—” David starts.

“I have room with separate bedroom,” Kiro says. “Will not be problem. Might not be comfortable couch, though.”

David thinks of going back to his apartment, blanches at the idea of it.

“Okay,” David says. “Thanks.”

Kiro makes him drink both of the waters, holds the bill hostage and insists he’s going to pay if David doesn’t. Kiro’s already done him a favour, drinking with him. David’s not willing to let him pay the bill too.

Kiro’s girlfriend is in bed when they get back, and Kiro forces a Gatorade into his hands while he converts the couch to a bed. 

“I don’t need this,” David says, gesturing with the Gatorade. He doesn’t even like the fruit punch flavour.

“How would you know?” Kiro asks, which is a good enough response that David feels obliged to finish the bottle before he falls asleep.

It isn’t a very good couch, and David wakes up feeling sore, a low grade headache emanating from his temples. It’s quiet when he gets up, but when he returns from the bathroom there’s noise from the kitchenette, and a woman — presumably Kiro’s girlfriend — pops her head out.

“Morning,” she says. “I’m Emily. I’ve got coffee brewing if you want some.”

“David,” David responds, crosses the room to shake her hand. He feels strange in yesterday’s clothes, knowing that _she_ knows he’s in yesterday’s clothes. If they don’t have time before training David will have to borrow something from Kiro. Thankfully they’re about the same size. Everything Jake wore was at least a size too big, and if David wore his things, well. He was afraid someone would realise. It seems stupid, now. He can bring Kiro to the Awards, thank Jake in his speech, and no one bats an eye. David doubts they would have noticed if he wore a shirt one size larger than usual.

“Coffee would be nice, thank you,” David says. 

“There’s aspirin and water on the table,” she says. 

“Thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” David says.

“That was Kirill, not me,” Emily says. “He’s the thoughtful one. I just make better coffee.”

David smiles. “I’ve had Kiro’s coffee,” David says. He was unsure how hotel room coffee could taste so much worse than usual, but it had. “Thank you for making it instead.” 

“He told you to call him Kiro?” Emily asks.

David frowns. “Am I not supposed—”

“Nah,” she cuts him off. “He mostly dropped it after college. Wanted to be taken more seriously.”

David must look sceptical, because she laughs, says, “I know, right? But welcome to the chosen circle, he must like you.”

David feels himself going red. 

“Ah, my two favourites,” Kiro says, when he comes into the main room, and David goes redder. “I called Slava, told him we will only come in afternoon,” he tells David.

“What time—” David says, reaching for his phone.

“We are already late,” Kiro says, easily, like David’s ever been late in his life. Kiro isn’t either, usually, and if he is it’s never by more than fifteen minutes. “I took blame,” he tells David. “Well. Emily took blame.”

“Thanks, Kir,” she says. 

“He cannot make you do extra pushups,” Kiro says. “It was an easy choice.”

David snorts. 

“How is your head?” he asks.

“Fine,” David says.

“Fine fine or David fine?” Kiro asks.

David frowns. “What’s the difference?” he asks.

“David fine is not fine, but lying,” Kiro says.

“It’s fine,” David repeats. “Really fine,” he says, when Kiro opens his mouth. “I drank a lot of water.”

“Drink more,” Kiro says. “If you throw up in training it is me Slava will kill.”

“I’m not going to throw up,” David mumbles, but when Kiro gets him a bottle of water from the fridge he drinks it alongside his coffee, takes the aspirin for good measure, ignoring the look Kiro gives him when he does.

Vladislav isn’t impressed when they arrive. “This never happened when he was training with Oleg,” he says to Kiro, in English so David won’t miss it.

“It’s not his fault,” David says quietly.

“Oh, I am blaming you too,” Vladislav says. “I hope you are not hungover, because if you are, today will be terrible for you.”

It is terrible, but David doesn’t think that it’s a hangover as much as Vladislav, annoyed, ratcheting things up again.

“I’m really sorry,” David says, at the end of the day. 

“What are friends for?” Kiro says, breathless.

David stares.

“Did I not say it right?” Kiro asks, straightening up from where he’d hunched over, catching his breath.

“No,” David says. “You said it right.”

“Good,” Kiro says. “Now leave me to die.”

David laughs.

*

There’s an interview scheduled toward the end of August. It was supposed to be Oleg’s, but his father’s unwell, and Oleg doesn’t want to leave Russia before he has to, has remained in Moscow weeks beyond his planned return. He calls David, a week before, asks him personally, and David, of course, agrees to do the interview in his stead.

The interviewer seems delighted to have David, though David doesn’t know if that’s an act, if maybe they’re like that all the time. This isn’t the standard interview, it’s for a generic men’s magazine instead of a sports outlet, and David isn’t sure whether Oleg agreed to this himself or Islanders PR pressured him into it, because Oleg has never liked interviews, and this is the last sort of interview he’d be comfortable with.

They ask a lot of the questions David hates answering, and he hopes his answers are noncommittal enough that they don’t bother including them at all. Take pictures of him in suits that he thinks he would balk at the price tag of, even with his salary. He probably isn’t a very interesting interview, by the way the interviewer seems to get less enthusiastic as the interview goes on, knows he isn’t a good subject because the photographer doesn’t hesitate to tell him so. He had to take a day off of training — Vladislav scowling hard, and then a little less when David mentioned it was for Oleg — and he hates every minute of it, from the beginning to the end, but Oleg asked, so of course he did it. Oleg doesn’t ask for a lot of things.

Between questions about his ideal woman and a brand he can’t live without, the reporter asks him about his outlook on the year. “Or in your case the season, obviously,” the reporter says, laughs. “It’s like a new year, right?”

“I feel good about it,” David says, and is surprised to realise it doesn’t feel like a lie.


End file.
